


A Horror You Can't Quite Shake

by M_Logolepsy



Series: your skin stretched over another (aka garfield is a bastard man who deserves no rights) [2]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Clones, Crew as Family, F/M, Garfield's nasty nasty revenge, Gen, M/M, Post-Canon, garfield's a bastard man so watch yourself, nothing too nasty besides the body horror that comes with cloning really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-29 23:00:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20443991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M_Logolepsy/pseuds/M_Logolepsy
Summary: Lup sits in Magnus' kitchen and feels this inkling that something's wrong. She ignores that feeling.Suddenly, random flashes of necromantic energy and springing up all around her closest friends only for her to discover no explanations and weird behavior. Something's wrong and she knows it-- but no one believes her, except maybe her brother.(Garfield gets his revenge.)





	A Horror You Can't Quite Shake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome to the shit show! this little revenge journey has so much weird shit going on. for the majority we'll be with lup but it is a very garfield fic, so mind the tags and the cursed shit that this goblin man will get up to. let's do it!

The room is dark when he enters, but that won’t last. The walls in front of him are dim, but he can still sense the waves of magic within them, the crackle of energy humming in the very air and rattling through the material. He smells ozone, tastes metal, feels the power bubbling under the surface, just out of reach. They’re listening. All he has to do is speak. 

His catlike-sneer glistens in the dim light. “I have a new deal.” 

His pupils retract to slits as light floods the room. He sees their words, hears their whispers, feels their presence. They swirl and surround him, but he does not flinch. It is almost too much. The onslaught of words and the vast array of emotions behind them hit him all at once. They scream-- 

“What’s your deal?” 

“Everything you ask for is so buckwild, I’m begging you to elaborate.” 

“What do you want now? It’s like four in the morning there… Are you good?” 

“What cursed shit are you developing now oh sweet--”

\--but he does not bow to them. He has the upper hand now, even in this. The warlock transcends the patron.

“I am closer than I’ve ever been, now!” he shouts. 

He can feel that they are about to say something more-- several people are typing, then three, then only one-- but no message comes through. Their shouts clatter to a stop. A cacophonous end and then silence. There is no reaction from them now except a single image-- narrowed eyes, vibrating in anticipation. He forces himself to look away before the sight makes his own vision swim. They are waiting for him to elaborate. 

“Magnus is finished and deployed, and the others will follow soon. The silverware did not have his genetic material, but it had another’s that will still come in handy. In a matter of days, they will all be ready.” 

“Oh God--”

“HAHAHAH YES!”

“This is so cursed! What the fuck.”

“Pain and suffering? More pain?”

“There is no way he pulls this off.”

“Holy fuck, I’m so DOWN!” 

“Are the clones even alive? How does this even…?”

“But what’s the deal?” 

“The deal?” He asks, stepping forward and allowing the rapid influx of their messages, glowing white against the dark, to illuminate him. As he shifts, orange fur pokes its way out from under his heavy cloak and glow dimly in the light. “It’s a no brainer, really.” 

Their messages flash by rapidly. They call out his hubris, reference things he does not yet understand, shout to each other, pull in others with that glowing circled “a” sigil, send strange images of mocking faces and wooden puppets and long-dead, world-devouring planes pasted onto the head of a horse prince and denim monstrosities that he could only hope to grasp at the meaning of. Even now, even after wielding their power for months now, he could not understand them. 

Yet, he would understand. He was certain of it! Everything he had ever wanted was within his reach, and he was about to snatch it. Nothing-- not governments, not gods, not the Birds or the Bureau, not even the very limit of the planar system or the knowledge of gods --could hold him back now. 

This was his ascension. This was the beginning of the end for all who dared to stop him, for all who dreamed of making a fool of him. All who’d dare laugh at him-- at Garfield! The Deals Warlock! --would perish by his claw. 

In the flashing of words across the dark in front of him, his yellow eyes and many teeth sparkle from beneath his hood. 

“It’s just good business.”

\---- 

Lup sits in Magnus’s kitchen and cannot shake how wrong this feels. 

“Do you want sugar in your tea?” he asks. 

She answers cooly, “No thanks, Mags, I like it black.”

He doesn’t pick up on her discomfort, simply putting the cup of tea down in front of her. 

This is so wrong. Something’s off and she can’t put her finger on it. His eyebrow scar is gone, but it’s been gone for a while, right? The body that formed with a black eye and a tender, split eyebrow every year was long gone, eviscerated in Wonderland. She was there, she saw that. He has so few scars on him, which is so bizarre for Magnus. Even when he was a barely-legal, baby-faced little shit he was still littered with scars. That, too, reset when his body was destroyed and recreated, but she was so sure he’d regained a new collection. How could he not have? 

Why wasn’t he starting conversation? “So, how’s rebuilding Raven’s Roost going?” she asks, awkward in her attempt to break the ice. 

“Good! It’s going so well.” 

She waits for the typical word vomit but it doesn’t come. He sips his tea and smiles at her blankly. When he puts the teacup down, it is pitch black. Never in her life has she seen Magnus drink tea with anything less than its contents being composed of 90% cream and at least six sugars. 

Dread is growing in her gut. Something is wrong. “Magnus, are you alright?” 

“Me? Yeah, I’m fine, Lulu! Why would you ask that?” 

Wrong nickname, jackass. She slips down and lets the magic of her goddess seap over her skin and reveal a skull. She blinks through eyes that are no longer flesh and sees… Sees nothing? She should be able to see any sort of magic affecting him through the Raven Queen but there’s nothing. Residues of necromantic energy, sure, but he’d been resurrected more times than she cares to keep track of at this point, so there’s bound to be some leftovers. He is just… Blank. No energy signatures besides the slight green twinge. 

She drops back into her flesh-bod and rubs her eyes. “Are you sure you’re alright?” 

Magnus shrugs. “I mean, a little tired and off, but it’s probably just the lack of sleep. Are you alright, Lup?” 

Is she okay? She feels like she stepped into the uncanny valley but there’s nothing wrong with him. He’s just… He’s just Magnus but he’s weird. 

Before she can answer, she feels a pull deep in her chest and the flesh melts away from her face again. Her call feels like a breath of fresh air that she desperately needs in the moment and she takes it. “Sorry Mags, that’s Death-Mom, I gotta head.” 

“Oh, no worries! Say hi to Barry and Krav for me!” he says, giving her a little wave as she slices open a tear in reality. 

No hug? No dinner invite? “Will do!” she says, and the disorientation she feels when she lands on the Astral Plane has little to do with the sudden location shift. 

She lands awkwardly, her knee hitting the ground with a loud smack instead of her feet bracing her fall into a kneel. Kravitz and Barry are already there, and she lands right in the middle of them. They form a neat little line, each kneeling in order. Technically, she’s supposed to be on the other side of Kravitz, but tradition and order are things they only seem to settle into on accident. 

“Ah,” she winces, shifting to her other knee. “That’s gonna be a fat bruise.” 

“Oof.” 

“Don’t let me forget, we’ll ice it tonight so it doesn’t swell or anything,” Barry says, kissing her cheek in a greeting. 

“You’re too sweet, Bar- Wait, boss, I know you didn’t just oof me!” 

Kravitz flushes- a recent development, courtesy of her baby brother -and scratches the back of his neck. “Taako said that it showed sympathy!” 

“It does, babe, it does,” Lup says, stifling a laugh. “You’re killing it with slang, really.” 

“Death puns in my court, Lup?” The Raven Queen’s voice echoes through the onyx pillars of her hall, and with the voice the torches lit for guests snuff out suddenly. She feels Barry drop his mortal form next to her, slipping his glasses into his collar to rely on the Raven Queen’s magic to see in the dark. “I believe you said that that was more Barold’s style.” 

Man, the ongoing bit that Barry’s full name was actually Barold might just be her finest work. She laughs, proud and light, and she feels the anxiety she was feeling earlier ease. See? What did she have to worry about? She's got a job she loves with a boy he adores. Even if Magnus was acting weird, they'd figure it out.

Everything’s fine. She had nothing to worry about.

**Author's Note:**

> tfw, this is all your fault. i adore you endlessly.
> 
> come yell at me at lonelyjournal-keeper.tumblr.com


End file.
